WebJournal - The blog will set you freeNews of no interest whatsoever except to very close and patient friends and family members and maybe people with no life

Saturday, April 30, 2005

Repeating myself

I have said it once, twice, a hundred times: nothing beats the sheer pleasure of coming home tired and weary, getting all the clothes off and slipping between the sheets, with the window open and fresh breeze coming in. It's pure bliss, a simple but so intense pleasure that can actually make your day.

Met Gema and Luis after work with Nicolas, Pilar and Pamen. After a leasurely walk around the West Village and Chelsea, we had (well, I had) a couple of Apple Martinis at the Maritime Hotel and then dinner at Highline. We checked out downstairs where the music was great but only Pamen and I were excited about the place. We promised ourselves to come back soon.We all left and a few minutes later everybody went home except Pamen and I, who headed towards Union Square and a bar filled with Asian girls and Indian guys. They were all probably coming from a prom. Still, it was entertaining and we did manage to dance a bit. According to Pamen the dj said bye when we left.I came home in a cab. Very interesting conversation spurred by a fight on a street between a guy and a girl. The driver was telling me about drunk girls wanting to kiss him. Oh, well ... lets sleep some.

And not much was done.Friday I went through the day a little zombied out from lack of sleep but I still went out in the evening. I made a reservation for five at Pipa at 10 PM (nothing available earlier) so Raoul and I met Pamen, Carmen and Francia at the Kitano. A band was playing and there was a quiet policy that had us giggling like kids. Andrea also showed up. I hand sent him an e-mail from work to see if he wanted to join us for dinner. He already had plans but he did hop over for a drink. It all felt very natural, which is quite remarkable given that I hadn't seen him in like ... er ... 30 years?

Dinner at Pipa was great and we did have a field day with Raoul's italian obsession with coffee. He actually asked the waiter if he could supervise the making of his espresso. Unfortunately the espresso machine was in the back kitchen, off-limits to customers. He gave detailed instructions regarding the preparation of a proper coffee but was predictably disappointed with the results. Finally Fabian joined us for a few minutes and then everybody scattered, with Raoul, Francia and I walking home.

Saturday I was up in time to walk briskly to my 11 AM appointment with Hitomi (she does some kind of postural therapy, vaguely related to Alexander's technique). I liked it and think it is worth exploring, except for wide-eyed Hitomi loudly demanding "Give it to me!" while standing behind my back to check the position of my spine while I was sitting on an imaginary chair in the rapidly filling gym studio. Mental note: explain to her the meaning of the expression. After I had been humiliated enough by Hitomi I took Derek's class and left ten minutes before it was over to rush home in a cab and have lunch with Raoul, who had a car picking him up to take him to JFK at 2.45 PM.

Today I did nothing. Zilch. Nada. I had decided not to go to Jordi's party because JP was flying in from Madrid for a doctor's appointment tomorrow. Naturally, Nicolas just called me to let me know it was a lot fun. Shit!

JP arrived, we had a very civilized dinner (diligently prepared by yours truly) and he is now sleeping on an aerobed in the living room. Day one is done.

Raoul landed at 12.30. Got home about an hour later. We decided to stay up and chat for an hour or so. An hour went by, then another hour, and then yet another hour. It's 4.30 AM now and I shall make an effort and sleep.

My iBook hard drive is acting up. It stalls. It won't start. It clicks. It's dying.Again. It better still be under some kind of warranty. I am frantically backing up whatever I can. My backing up system is as chaotic as everything else in my life. I have two huge external hard drives. Tons and tons of data. A lot of it probably duplicated and triplicated. No system. No organization. Good luck finding something there. I'll have to call Tekserve tomorrow morning and figure out what to do now. If I have to pay again I'll be one pissed customer. My iMac is shot too, has been for a while, but I am pretty sure it's a software problem that I have to sort out somehow. That and the CD stuck in the CD drive that refuses to be ejected. Worse case scenario I'll have a fit and then wait for the new OS to be "unleashed" before I buy a new iBook.Meanwhile it's already 1.45 AM and my alarm is set for 5.30 AM. Ugh.

I just catched (caught?) a few minutes of Chasing Farrah. Sad sad show. She was such a beauty, before she turned into this lopsided melted-wax shiny monster with a baby voice and a silly little-girl attitude.

I've just noticed a certain tendency to title my posts Home sweet home (twice this month already). I also happened to have given the same subject name to my latest e-mail to M.A. I'd better think harder.

Relative morality

Recently a good friend said to me that given complete assurance that they would not be discovered, all men would cheat on their women. Years ago a certain Pierpaolo, the then boyfriend, now husband, of a friend, and a complete asshole, told me that all people, if left on an island with no police and no judges, would have no qualms about killing another human being.

J.P. was probably right when he called me a fundamentalist but I fail to see what difference does it make whether you are or are not caught doing something wrong.

Beautiful weather again, a light work day, a new great routine with Derek, a while spent doing my first transfer to polymer clay (I used gin, of which I have plenty of, instead of liquid sculpey and I did not bake the clay in the oven, but cured it in the microwave instead). A perfect day. Except for that new Pope that got elected, of course, but then again, the man's old enough to be considered just a temporary nuisance.

I'm back! I'm back! I'm back! After two nightmarish weeks in that hellhole, I somehow made it and I am back home again. I landed a little before 6 AM at JFK, came home for a nap and by 1.30 was brunching with Nicolas and some of his friends at Intermezzo in Chelsea. NY welcomed me with the most gorgeous weather so after a stop at the Gay and Lesbian Center for a bear event were I got a picture taken with the winner of the tatoo contest (the sweetest man, by the way) Nicolas, Massimiliamo and I went for a walk and some sunbathing on the grass by the piers. Everybody was out and about and I could barely contain my happiness.

I have no words to describe these last few days. I have hated every minute. I now can even understand suicide. If this was all I had to live for, I'd rather be dead. And I mean it. This is coming from the less suicidal person you would ever meet. Every fucking minute is a struggle. Every fucking conversation. Every fucking intercaction. The more I know the more I want to disappear. The rage within me is beyond explananation. I feel my blood boiling. I feel on the brink of tears constantly. I feel I could do some damage. I have nothing but bottled up rage now. Fuck everything and everybody. Give me my fucking life back. I have earned every single second of it. Get me the fuck outta here. NOW.

No, I didn't really follow Mike's how-to but I did copy his brilliant idea. So yesterday I had my life poster printed at Kinko's. Next time I'll chose shiny photo paper instead of regular matte, but other than that, it came out all right.